


at your back

by bonebo



Series: Reaper76 Week '17 [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, M/M, Post-Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:31:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9387290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: Jack's always hated crowds.





	

Jack’s always hated crowds.

Growing up in the middle of nowhere, Indiana, it was a hard fear to recognize--mainly made itself known during his schooldays, when he found himself at the front of the classroom with a report clutched in white-knuckled fists and the eyes of his peers staring at him, listening to him stumble and stutter over his words while he wished for nothing more than to melt into the floor. As he got older the fear lingered, festered thick and cloying in a house of four kids and military parents where excellence was not only expected, but required.

And in the military, when he’s reduced to nothing more than another test subject, another gun, another piece for someone else to handle, it gets easier. There’s still stumbling blocks--a blind moment of panic in the mess hall, when he feels like everyone is watching him search for the closest seat; nausea hot in his chest, when the rifle instructor has him shoot as an example for the whole class--but even through those rough moments, the white-hot anxiety that churns his gut, he survives.

In part, it’s due to Gabriel--his best friend, his commanding officer, his saving grace and more. It’s Gabriel’s hand, warm and squeezed tight around his own, that gets him through the worst nights; his voice, quiet against Jack’s ear, soft murmurs of, _It’s alright, Jackie. I’ve got you, just breathe._

But all of that feels so distant, now.

The last battle of the Crisis had finally been won, and while they should be celebrating, Jack instead feels like he’s going to be sick. His hands shake by his sides as he follows Gabriel--Commander Reyes now, he corrects himself, wincing--down the hallway toward the conference room, and he tries to keep his gaze focused on the short curls at the back of Reyes’s head instead of the press and news reporters that swarm around them, their mics thrust out and cameras flashing.

_“Captain Morrison--what happened at the last battle?”_

_“Captain Morrison, can you describe what you’re feeling right now?”_

_“Mr. Morrison, a word, please!”_

It’s all he can do to make it to the conference room, and when he shuts the door on the reporter still talking to him it’s with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. This room, unlike the hallway, is painfully quiet; filled with media, still, but none of them talk as the two war heroes advance up the side of the room, toward the podium.

It doesn’t matter. Jack can still feel their eyes, locked on him like targeting sights.

In the wall behind the podium, there is another door. Jack follows Gabriel through it and finds, to his immense relief, that it leads to a smaller room, dimly-lit and empty except for the two of them. Gabriel reaches past him to close the door, and then meets Jack’s eyes with a frown.

“Morrison.” His voice softens a little, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he frowns. “Are you alright?”

Jack thinks of a million answers--yes, he’s fought a war, of course he’s fine with delivering a speech to a group of people. No, he’s about to throw his guts up, or faint on the spot. Who cares, because he’s going to have to do it anyway.

“Gabe,” is what eventually leaves his throat, because every other thought has fled.

Gabriel sighs--his sad sigh, not his angry sigh, and Jack has worked long enough with him to know the difference--and takes a step forward, closing the gap between them. His hands find Jack’s, squeeze them to still the shaking, bring them up to his lips to press a faint kiss against the scars on Jack’s knuckles.

“You’re going to do fine,” Gabriel murmurs, gaze as warm as his voice; entirely certain. The kind of confident Jack can’t be, right now. “It’s just a speech, solito. Just a few minutes of talking, and then I’ll get up there and you can hide behind me for the rest of it.”

It sounds teasing, but Jack knows Gabriel knows the comfort in his words--how much he’d like that, what a relief it would be to be able to hide behind the might of Gabriel’s strong shoulders and avoid the cameras entirely. He manages a barely-there nod, feeling the tension in his gut start to slowly uncoil.

“Just a speech,” he echoes, voice quiet; there’s a knock at the door, and while Jack flinches, Gabriel pulls his hands away. He offers Jack a remorseful frown, then sets a hand on his shoulder to steer him back toward the door.

“You can do this, Jackie.” Gabriel’s voice is soft in his ear, calm and certain. Jack tries to pull it into himself, hold it against his heart to chase away the nerves. “Trust me--I’ve got your back.” 

He can feel Gabriel’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing; the weight of Gabriel’s faith in him, pressing him down and keeping him grounded to the floor beneath his dress shoes. He glances over, and catches a glimpse of Gabriel’s expression--grim but determined, stoic brows and firm jaw and eyes bright, ready.

The face of a leader. The face that Jack would follow into Hell itself.

He draws in a shaky breath, and opens the door.


End file.
